Full Name: William "Bill" Jonskowski From (Hometown): Cherryfield, Maine Gender: Male Ethnicity: Caucasian Traits (Appearance): About 6', average build, slightly muscular, mid 20's Reason for coming on the plane: Exploring the world Brief History (Criminal record, past): Grew up in a small town so has always wanted to see the world and adventure, former Olympic fencer Anything else: N/A
DAY ONE
I awoke to the sound of a hermit crab burrowing in my ear. I swatted it away out of instinct, but then it it hit me, there weren't crabs on airliners. Nor sand, I realized as I took account to the ground I was sprawled out across. I picked up some sand and let it fall through my hand. "Is this a dream?" I thought to myself. I sat up and took a look at my surroundings. My back was killing me. This most certainly was not a dream. Around me now was an extensive beach, running in both directions as far as I could see. Behind me was a lush, dark jungle, and right in front of me, the great blue Atlantic. This was my life now, it seemed that a few moments earlier I was being served a drink by an attractive stewardess. That was the last thing I remembered. Somehow, the plane crashed, and somehow, for whatever reason, I was lucky enough to survive. Maybe this was life saying it wasn't time for me to die just yet. Life still had plans for me. With that in mind, I figured that I wouldn't stand much of a chance at surviving if I just laid on the beach in self pity. I had always wanted some adventure, and here it was for me. I had done some modest adventuring in the past, but nothing as serious as this. I walked towards the overgrown jungle, clutching at my shoulder. I knew I needed shelter, a way to make fire, and water. "Good luck," I muttered to myself.
DAY TWO
I started to panic as the sun set over the western horizon. I had been combing the beach and periphery jungle for hours searching for a safe place to spend the night. I couldn't make much progress as I was still sore from the crash. I figured some rest would help me feel better. In the morning I'd search for a source of water and a way to make fire. But the only thing that mattered was finding a place to rest my aching body. As the sun uttered its dying breath, I noticed a rock formation on the outskirts of the jungle. I limped towards it. hoping to find some cover before the reddish hue in the sky turned to an unforgiving black.The rocks formed a small cave with a convenient overhang. "This may not be perfect. but it'll last me a night or two." I thought to myself. I quickly gathered some leaves from the surrounding area to make my bedding before the sun slipped below the horizon. I collapsed onto my impromptu bed. Surprisingly it was conformable, though I guess anything would be based on how tired I was. I was well sated from my refreshments on the plane but I knew I wouldn't feel the same way in the morning. I knew I could go without food for a few days, but I wouldn't stand much of a chance out here without water soon. As I closed my eyes for the night, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with panic over my situation.
DAY THREE
Sleep took me faster than I expected. I dreamed just about every night, but most of the time they were just fleeting visions, nothing really concrete. But tonight was different. Perhaps it was a side effect of the inherent brain damage I suffered from the crash. I was back home, a place thousands of miles away. It was a hot summer's day in Cherryfield as my father and I strolled through our family's blueberry farm. One would think a place called Cherryfield would grow cherries, but, ironically enough, it is the self-proclaimed blueberry capital of the world. My father was sick, dying. Years of working in asbestos filled shipyards will do that to you. We walked in silence, as we usually did. There was an air of understanding between us, feelings that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. But when my father spoke, I listened. He stopped, and began to speak, not turning his head towards me to look at me. "Son," he began, the words hard on his degenerated lungs. "I don't know how else to put this, but my time is coming. I've made my peace with it, but you. you're the important one," he stopped to catch his breath, every word was hard for him at this point. "Your place is here, and when I'm gone this is all yours. I know this is the life for you," he finally turned to face me, a single tear rolled down his face. This was the last thing I wanted to hear. All I wanted to do was get off this godforsaken farm and actually live life, but I couldn't upset my father, not in his last few days. "You're right, thank you," I said with a half-hearted smile. "This is your home," my father said. Those words resonated with me at the time and even more so in my dream. As soon as my father died, I ran off. I felt guilty about it, but I had to do what was best for me. And now it was coming back to bite me, stuck on an island, living life. I awoke as the sun cast an orange glow over the oceans. The word "home" still ringing in my ears.
DAY FOUR
I picked myself off of the ground. The sun was already high in the sky by the time I got up. I had slept for longer than I would've liked. I tried to swallow but my mouth was drier than the sand on the beach. I needed water, and I needed it fast. The plant life on the island was green and bountiful, so I knew there had to be a fresh water source somewhere on the island. I decided to venture into the jungle for the day to see what's what with the island. As I pushed my way through the dense undergrowth I wondered about the crash. If I had survived surely that meant others had survived too. This thought kept me going for a while. I figured I'd stand a better shot at surviving out here if I had some people to share the load with, plus I'd wager that I'd go insane if it were just me and thoughts on this island. After about an hour of hiking the air became more humid and various bugs were crawling all over my skin. I knew this meant water was nearby. I was beside myself with excitement and used all the energy I had left to sprint to the source of water. A stream trickling out of the ground created a small tributary of a larger river. I threw myself onto the ground to drink. The water had dirt in it but I didn't care. To me it was like drinking the nectar of a god. I sat at the bank of the water for a good amount of time. When my thirst was finally quenched, I began to head back to the beach and back to my shelter, but in the opposite direction I heard shouting. I had a choice to make.
DAY FIVE
I stood paralyzed in the jungle for a good amount of time. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to find out what people belonged to the voices I was hearing. But I was also deathly terrified. I had no idea what dangers lurked on this island. Against my better judgement I started slowly moving in the general direction of the voices. I tread lightly across the jungle floor, careful as to not draw unwanted attention to myself. The foliage began to thin out as I got closer to the voices. They still spoke in a dialect that I didn't understand . "Natives?" I thought to myself. "No, that can't be," I reasoned, "someone would have found them by now." Through the thinning trees I could see a clearing of neatly trimmed grass. On the far side of the clearing there were ramshackle buildings and in the middle a giant bonfire was blazing. There were men, barely clothed and covered in war paint, dancing around and chanting something. I definitely didn't want them to notice me but I wanted to observe them so I hid in a bush on the edge of the clearing. From my better vantage point I could make out what was burning in the bonfire. They were cooking something. It seemed rather large to be an animal on an island. Then I realized. It was a human, likely from the crash. I had seen enough to know I shouldn't be here so I silently tried to get up from my hiding spot. I felt something run up my leg. I quickly swatted at it but not before it bit me. I fell over in pain and right into the clearing. All of a sudden the dancing stopped, the chanting stopped, and they were all staring at me. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest.
DAY SIX
The natives stopped their dance and approached me, weapons readied. I was sprawled out across the ground, afraid to make any move. They formed a circle around me with their spears pointed at me. One man uttered something in their tongue and they began to slowly enclose their circle. This was it: fight or flight. I made a mad dash. I pushed through a couple natives and was back into the jungle. They yelled something and began to pursue me. I had never run faster in my life. Everything was a blur as my body was focused on one thing, survive. I tore through branches and plants and splashed through mud, doing my best to lose them, but I was fighting a losing battle as they knew the land much more than I. My lungs and legs were burning but I didn't care because I knew if I stopped for just one second I would be dinner. I was gaining ground on the hunters but I was running out of jungle to run in. I needed something to save me. I exited the jungle to find myself on the opposite coast of the island. I was a sitting duck out here in the open. I had to find somewhere to hide quickly. To the north I spotted something sticking out of the water, half-submerged. It looked like some kind of ship. I wasn't sure if this was what I needed. I contemplated it for a few seconds, but then heard my hunters gaining ground on me in the jungle. I used my last energy to sprint over to this ruin. It seemed to be calling me.
DAY SEVEN
I threw myself into the water and swam to the ship. The ship was moored on a sand bar not too far off the coast. I pulled myself out of the water and onto the deck of the ship. It was a rusty metal ship, not the wooden ship I had imagined. I wondered how it got here. It must have been fairly recent that it ran aground here. It was strange though, you'd think someone would've looked for it after it was lost. Nevertheless, I continued my walk down the deck of the ship. I was certain the natives weren't chasing me anymore but I wanted to make sure I was safe so I thought it might be a good idea to spend the night aboard the ship. I was curious about the ship so I continued to poke around the vessel. I combed through the seaweed that covered the strange ship. I didn't really find anything, mostly trash, a product of our own negligence to our own environment. But then my hand hit something that jutted out. I cleared the space of debris and found it was a handle that opened up to the interior of the ship. I pulled the door open. It was heavy and was tough to move due to the years of rust. Sunlight poured into the belly of the ship but it was still extremely dark inside. There was a ladder going down into the ship. I could only see the first few rungs but I decided to go for it anyway. I carefully descended the ladder. It was hard going down; I didn't know how far down the floor was so I took it slowly. I reached the bottom and tried to feel around to try to get my bearings. All of a sudden there was a pair of cold, strong hands around my neck.
DAY EIGHT
There was more talking in different languages. Frankly, I was getting tired of this. All I wanted was for someone to speak English. The hand around my neck loosened a bit. The voice, surprisingly, asked me in English "Who. Are. You." It was a voice devoid of any emotion. I stammered out, "B-Bill. Jonskowski.". "Put a light on," the voice commanded. Instantly lanterns were lit around the hull of the ship. I was in a room with about a dozen men who looked a bit worse for wear. "He is not one of the natives," one of them called out. "Yes," said the one who was holding me. He released me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Apologies brother," he spoke tersely. "We can never be too careful what with the natives about". "So, if you're not the natives, then who are you?" I asked, puzzled. "Ah. Yes. You may call me Gutaale. Leader of Armies in our homeland. We are a long way from home, Somalia. Piracy does that to you. A storm moored our ship here. We asked the natives for help, but they fought us instead. That is why we are here, waiting for someone like you. Will you join us brother?" I could only manage a blank stare as all this information washed over me. This was completely absurd. Somalian pirates in the Caribbean. I guess I could really say I'd seen everything I figured I had nothing to loose by joining up with them. "Yea. Sure," I said hesitantly. Everyone in the ship cheered and I couldn't help but feel the same sense of happiness, the first I'd had since arriving on the island. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad anyway.
DAY NINE
And just like that, I was ushered into a whole new life. I joined the Somalians in their revelry. It was clear that they hadn't had much to be hopeful about for a while. We sat in a circle, all sharing stories of our lives up to this point. For a while I had forgotten about my terrible condition on the island. The happiness and lightheartedness lasted for only a short time. There was a lull in the conversation, and that's when Gutaale decided to completely change the subject. He explained how the Somalians wanted to get rid of the natives and have the island for themselves, and now they had the perfect weapon for that. He then gestured at me. "You, Bill. You will be our Trojan Horse. We offer you as tribute. They trust us. We attack and free you. Simple," he explained. "Yeah, sounds great," I said, totally enthusiastically. The Somalians did not know sarcasm and all rejoiced at this acceptance. I nervously laughed and went along with it. "Now is the time to strike. They are still looking for you. We will have "hunted" you down for them. Let us prepare you." They took me outside and gathered around me. One of them removed most of my clothes and another rubbed dirt on my skin to show a struggle. They crushed some berries and painted me to look like a sacrifice. "This will be just like back in Guantanamo," said one of them. "Yes. Except that will be floccinaucinihilipilification compared to this," remarked Gutaale. "What?" I asked. "It means valueless. Pick up a dictionary you uncivilized brute." And on that note, they tied my hands and feet to a pole and carried me into the jungle, into the heart of darkness.
DAY TEN (DEAD)
The last thing I remember before blacking out was the cannibals rubbing spices on me. I figured this plan was too good to be true. I was dinner. I woke up to a Somalian standing over me. "Wait? Am I alive?" I asked. "No, Bill. But you have been saved," said the man. "I am Genrig, God of Somalian Pirates. You became a Somalian Pirate in your last hours and I blessed you and saved you. You have achieved true salvation. Here you will live in Somalian Paradise for eternity," he finished with a bow, gesturing to the land behind him. It was beautiful. I was born in America, but I was a Somalian at heart. "I just have one task for you Bill," said Genrig. "What's that?" I asked. "You must watch over your Somalian brethren down below and assist them in their war with the heathens on that island." "As you wish, my liege."
DAY ELEVEN
I thought about my fate. What the fuck actually happened to me. I'm just some random guy from Maine, on my way to Rio to have some fun, and now I'm in pirate heaven. Life is a fickle master I suppose. I wondered if I had done things differently, maybe, just maybe things would've gone better. Maybe I should've teamed up with the other crash victims. No, they were all infighting, not dealing with the true matter at hand. I made the right choice I suppose. I died for the right cause and I guess I'd come to terms with it eventually. I always would wonder if my life would be worth it, whether my life would matter to anyone else. As I looked down upon the pirate camp, in much better condition than when I had arrived, and I thought that, yes, my death had furthered their own end.
DAY TWELVE
I was done reminiscing, I had a job to do. I descended to the camp. It was nighttime, the sky was clear, illuminated by millions of stars. The sky reminded me of home, clear of light pollution, as it was meant to be. This world is about taking in beauty, and boy were the Somalians beautiful. Their bonfires lit up the beach and gave light to the lookouts that guarded against whatever threats were out there. I wasn't quite sure, Russians, cannibals, survivors, who knows. Being a spirit definitely had its perks. I could seamlessly explore the pirate camp with no one bothering me or asking to feed me to cannibals. I'm sure I'll be able to laugh about that one in a few centuries. I found Gutaale and out of instinct greeted him. To my dismay, he had no reaction. I figured it could get very depressing as a spirit, not able to interact with anyone and all. I knew I needed to find a way to make an impact.
DAY THIRTEEN
I decided to take my leave of the camp until morning. I could walk through the jungle without fear of repercussion. It truly was beautiful when it wasn't trying to kill you. The whole ecosystem, kept away from the world in secret seclusion. I wondered if this is who Darwin felt, such beauty to explore and discover. I couldn't help but wish I was alive now. The feeling hit me hard. I was dead, and I was still trying to come to grips with it. Life is so futile: here I am, 26, full of life and ready to enjoy it, and yet, I die. And then you see curmudgeonly old men who get to live out their years cursing at the young generation. I guess my father was right, life isn't fair and I should've stayed back on the farm. But could I really live, or not live, in regret? I can't help what happened, and maybe everything does happen for a reason.
DAY FOURTEEN
As the sun began to rise above the island, I decided to make my way back to the pirate camp hoping to find some purpose for my mission. Maybe something would reveal itself to me in the daylight. I poked through the camp as the pirates awoke. They all stared in confusion as they saw some boxes moving without anything visually moving them. I stopped cold and stared back at them, forgetting that they couldn't see me. They all bent down and bowed to the vacant air. They started talking in Somalian, which, as product of the gift of Genrig, I now understood. "It is the work of Genrig, a sign. Let us sacrifice one in his name," he proclaimed. All of a sudden, three pirates grabbed an unexpected brother and held him down. Gutaale pulled out his pistol, said a prayer, and blasted his head off. It was gruesome, but beautiful in the same way. I could feel the embrace of Genrig around me. Out of the dead, but not forgotten pirate, a spirit emerged, looked around, and walked towards me. "We've been waiting for you, Bill," he greeted with a smile.
DAY FIFTEEN
"We knew Genrig would be sending you back to us. Just as the Christians have Jesus, we have Bill. A man, once mortal, now immortal, here to save our people. Thank you Bill," he said with a gracious bow. "Uh, yeah, yep that's me. Glad to see you again, man," I said with a half laugh. "In order to save us, you must know our story. So our brethren chose me to take you through our adventure. It is an honor, sir," he said, not looking me in the eye. "Well then. Shall we embark?" I asked. "Yes, my lord. We start in our homeland, Somalia." We grabbed my hand and we transcended time and space. We were standing on a cluttered dock, the heat was sweltering. "Welcome to Somalia," said the spirit with a bow, "in all of its splendor." Normally, I wouldn't have found a run down, criminal infested dock beautiful, but it takes a fine eye to appreciate art.
DAY SIXTEEN
The pirate spirit led me through the inner workings of the port. There were pirates, smugglers, mercenaries, bounty hunters. All the vagabonds, ne'er-do-wells, and insufferable bastards that the world had thrown away, all together here in perfect harmony. It was beautiful. Not that it was actually beautiful, but the idea was beautiful. These men had been given up on, cast away, but here, they are accepted. I was understanding now. People are people and the people back home get too damn obsessed with what you've done or haven't done, not who you are, not what's in your heart. I could feel the sense of community in these men and the love they have for each other. The media paints these men as evil, but they are not the ones thrust into these circumstances. I looked over to my spirit guide and he nodded, and, just like that, we disappeared.
DAY SEVENTEEN
We traveled through the space-time continuum or whatever it was, I was still getting used to this whole spirit thing. We came through on the other side to be greeted with crashing waves on a ship. I could tell that it was the Somalian's pirate ship, run off course into the Atlantic. There were helicopters flying above, shining searchlights down onto the ship. I wasn't told, but somehow I knew that this was the moment they were captured by the United States Coast Guard. There were men rappelling off the helicopters. They landed on the deck of the ship and pulled out their guns. The Somalians, not wanting to cost the life of any of their brethren, had no choice but to surrender. I blinked and the setting changed. It was a damp and musty hallway with prison cells lining each wall. In each of the cells sat a rejected Somalian. I knew they would escape so I had only wait and watch. I waited for what seemed like days, though, it's a bit hard to tell time when you're a spirit.
DAY EIGHTEEN
I was growing impatient. I knew I had literally all the time in the world, but this was ridiculous. The faces on the men who would soon be my friends looked so broken, so desperate. I knew I had to do something, but I knew there wouldn't be a way to interact with the world. In my frustration I grabbed the handle to the door of one of the cells. Surprisingly, my hand was able to grab it. I turned it and the door flew open with ease. The Somalian in the cell looked up, shocked. I did the same to all the cells and the door at the end of the hallway. Guards ran into the prison block and opened fire on the fugitives, but it was to no avail. I led the charge out of Guantanamo Bay that night, and by some blessing, we made it out. Sitting in the harbor outside was the Somalians' brig, from thence dubbed the HMS Bill.
DAY NINETEEN
We set sail immediately. The joy and frivolity was unlike any I had seen before.
EATEN BY CANNIBALS DAY NINE
Full Name: William "Bill" Jonskowski
From (Hometown): Cherryfield, Maine
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Traits (Appearance): About 6', average build, slightly muscular, mid 20's
Reason for coming on the plane: Exploring the world
Brief History (Criminal record, past): Grew up in a small town so has always wanted to see the world and adventure, former Olympic fencer
Anything else: N/A
DAY ONE
I awoke to the sound of a hermit crab burrowing in my ear. I swatted it away out of instinct, but then it it hit me, there weren't crabs on airliners. Nor sand, I realized as I took account to the ground I was sprawled out across. I picked up some sand and let it fall through my hand. "Is this a dream?" I thought to myself. I sat up and took a look at my surroundings. My back was killing me. This most certainly was not a dream. Around me now was an extensive beach, running in both directions as far as I could see. Behind me was a lush, dark jungle, and right in front of me, the great blue Atlantic. This was my life now, it seemed that a few moments earlier I was being served a drink by an attractive stewardess. That was the last thing I remembered. Somehow, the plane crashed, and somehow, for whatever reason, I was lucky enough to survive. Maybe this was life saying it wasn't time for me to die just yet. Life still had plans for me. With that in mind, I figured that I wouldn't stand much of a chance at surviving if I just laid on the beach in self pity. I had always wanted some adventure, and here it was for me. I had done some modest adventuring in the past, but nothing as serious as this. I walked towards the overgrown jungle, clutching at my shoulder. I knew I needed shelter, a way to make fire, and water. "Good luck," I muttered to myself.DAY TWO
I started to panic as the sun set over the western horizon. I had been combing the beach and periphery jungle for hours searching for a safe place to spend the night. I couldn't make much progress as I was still sore from the crash. I figured some rest would help me feel better. In the morning I'd search for a source of water and a way to make fire. But the only thing that mattered was finding a place to rest my aching body. As the sun uttered its dying breath, I noticed a rock formation on the outskirts of the jungle. I limped towards it. hoping to find some cover before the reddish hue in the sky turned to an unforgiving black.The rocks formed a small cave with a convenient overhang. "This may not be perfect. but it'll last me a night or two." I thought to myself. I quickly gathered some leaves from the surrounding area to make my bedding before the sun slipped below the horizon. I collapsed onto my impromptu bed. Surprisingly it was conformable, though I guess anything would be based on how tired I was. I was well sated from my refreshments on the plane but I knew I wouldn't feel the same way in the morning. I knew I could go without food for a few days, but I wouldn't stand much of a chance out here without water soon. As I closed my eyes for the night, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with panic over my situation.DAY THREE
Sleep took me faster than I expected. I dreamed just about every night, but most of the time they were just fleeting visions, nothing really concrete. But tonight was different. Perhaps it was a side effect of the inherent brain damage I suffered from the crash. I was back home, a place thousands of miles away. It was a hot summer's day in Cherryfield as my father and I strolled through our family's blueberry farm. One would think a place called Cherryfield would grow cherries, but, ironically enough, it is the self-proclaimed blueberry capital of the world. My father was sick, dying. Years of working in asbestos filled shipyards will do that to you. We walked in silence, as we usually did. There was an air of understanding between us, feelings that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. But when my father spoke, I listened. He stopped, and began to speak, not turning his head towards me to look at me. "Son," he began, the words hard on his degenerated lungs. "I don't know how else to put this, but my time is coming. I've made my peace with it, but you. you're the important one," he stopped to catch his breath, every word was hard for him at this point. "Your place is here, and when I'm gone this is all yours. I know this is the life for you," he finally turned to face me, a single tear rolled down his face. This was the last thing I wanted to hear. All I wanted to do was get off this godforsaken farm and actually live life, but I couldn't upset my father, not in his last few days. "You're right, thank you," I said with a half-hearted smile. "This is your home," my father said. Those words resonated with me at the time and even more so in my dream. As soon as my father died, I ran off. I felt guilty about it, but I had to do what was best for me. And now it was coming back to bite me, stuck on an island, living life. I awoke as the sun cast an orange glow over the oceans. The word "home" still ringing in my ears.DAY FOUR
I picked myself off of the ground. The sun was already high in the sky by the time I got up. I had slept for longer than I would've liked. I tried to swallow but my mouth was drier than the sand on the beach. I needed water, and I needed it fast. The plant life on the island was green and bountiful, so I knew there had to be a fresh water source somewhere on the island. I decided to venture into the jungle for the day to see what's what with the island. As I pushed my way through the dense undergrowth I wondered about the crash. If I had survived surely that meant others had survived too. This thought kept me going for a while. I figured I'd stand a better shot at surviving out here if I had some people to share the load with, plus I'd wager that I'd go insane if it were just me and thoughts on this island. After about an hour of hiking the air became more humid and various bugs were crawling all over my skin. I knew this meant water was nearby. I was beside myself with excitement and used all the energy I had left to sprint to the source of water. A stream trickling out of the ground created a small tributary of a larger river. I threw myself onto the ground to drink. The water had dirt in it but I didn't care. To me it was like drinking the nectar of a god. I sat at the bank of the water for a good amount of time. When my thirst was finally quenched, I began to head back to the beach and back to my shelter, but in the opposite direction I heard shouting. I had a choice to make.DAY FIVE
I stood paralyzed in the jungle for a good amount of time. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to find out what people belonged to the voices I was hearing. But I was also deathly terrified. I had no idea what dangers lurked on this island. Against my better judgement I started slowly moving in the general direction of the voices. I tread lightly across the jungle floor, careful as to not draw unwanted attention to myself. The foliage began to thin out as I got closer to the voices. They still spoke in a dialect that I didn't understand . "Natives?" I thought to myself. "No, that can't be," I reasoned, "someone would have found them by now." Through the thinning trees I could see a clearing of neatly trimmed grass. On the far side of the clearing there were ramshackle buildings and in the middle a giant bonfire was blazing. There were men, barely clothed and covered in war paint, dancing around and chanting something. I definitely didn't want them to notice me but I wanted to observe them so I hid in a bush on the edge of the clearing. From my better vantage point I could make out what was burning in the bonfire. They were cooking something. It seemed rather large to be an animal on an island. Then I realized. It was a human, likely from the crash. I had seen enough to know I shouldn't be here so I silently tried to get up from my hiding spot. I felt something run up my leg. I quickly swatted at it but not before it bit me. I fell over in pain and right into the clearing. All of a sudden the dancing stopped, the chanting stopped, and they were all staring at me. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest.DAY SIX
The natives stopped their dance and approached me, weapons readied. I was sprawled out across the ground, afraid to make any move. They formed a circle around me with their spears pointed at me. One man uttered something in their tongue and they began to slowly enclose their circle. This was it: fight or flight. I made a mad dash. I pushed through a couple natives and was back into the jungle. They yelled something and began to pursue me. I had never run faster in my life. Everything was a blur as my body was focused on one thing, survive. I tore through branches and plants and splashed through mud, doing my best to lose them, but I was fighting a losing battle as they knew the land much more than I. My lungs and legs were burning but I didn't care because I knew if I stopped for just one second I would be dinner. I was gaining ground on the hunters but I was running out of jungle to run in. I needed something to save me. I exited the jungle to find myself on the opposite coast of the island. I was a sitting duck out here in the open. I had to find somewhere to hide quickly. To the north I spotted something sticking out of the water, half-submerged. It looked like some kind of ship. I wasn't sure if this was what I needed. I contemplated it for a few seconds, but then heard my hunters gaining ground on me in the jungle. I used my last energy to sprint over to this ruin. It seemed to be calling me.DAY SEVEN
I threw myself into the water and swam to the ship. The ship was moored on a sand bar not too far off the coast. I pulled myself out of the water and onto the deck of the ship. It was a rusty metal ship, not the wooden ship I had imagined. I wondered how it got here. It must have been fairly recent that it ran aground here. It was strange though, you'd think someone would've looked for it after it was lost. Nevertheless, I continued my walk down the deck of the ship. I was certain the natives weren't chasing me anymore but I wanted to make sure I was safe so I thought it might be a good idea to spend the night aboard the ship. I was curious about the ship so I continued to poke around the vessel. I combed through the seaweed that covered the strange ship. I didn't really find anything, mostly trash, a product of our own negligence to our own environment. But then my hand hit something that jutted out. I cleared the space of debris and found it was a handle that opened up to the interior of the ship. I pulled the door open. It was heavy and was tough to move due to the years of rust. Sunlight poured into the belly of the ship but it was still extremely dark inside. There was a ladder going down into the ship. I could only see the first few rungs but I decided to go for it anyway. I carefully descended the ladder. It was hard going down; I didn't know how far down the floor was so I took it slowly. I reached the bottom and tried to feel around to try to get my bearings. All of a sudden there was a pair of cold, strong hands around my neck.DAY EIGHT
There was more talking in different languages. Frankly, I was getting tired of this. All I wanted was for someone to speak English. The hand around my neck loosened a bit. The voice, surprisingly, asked me in English "Who. Are. You." It was a voice devoid of any emotion. I stammered out, "B-Bill. Jonskowski.". "Put a light on," the voice commanded. Instantly lanterns were lit around the hull of the ship. I was in a room with about a dozen men who looked a bit worse for wear. "He is not one of the natives," one of them called out. "Yes," said the one who was holding me. He released me and put his hand on my shoulder. "Apologies brother," he spoke tersely. "We can never be too careful what with the natives about". "So, if you're not the natives, then who are you?" I asked, puzzled. "Ah. Yes. You may call me Gutaale. Leader of Armies in our homeland. We are a long way from home, Somalia. Piracy does that to you. A storm moored our ship here. We asked the natives for help, but they fought us instead. That is why we are here, waiting for someone like you. Will you join us brother?" I could only manage a blank stare as all this information washed over me. This was completely absurd. Somalian pirates in the Caribbean. I guess I could really say I'd seen everything I figured I had nothing to loose by joining up with them. "Yea. Sure," I said hesitantly. Everyone in the ship cheered and I couldn't help but feel the same sense of happiness, the first I'd had since arriving on the island. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad anyway.DAY NINE
And just like that, I was ushered into a whole new life. I joined the Somalians in their revelry. It was clear that they hadn't had much to be hopeful about for a while. We sat in a circle, all sharing stories of our lives up to this point. For a while I had forgotten about my terrible condition on the island. The happiness and lightheartedness lasted for only a short time. There was a lull in the conversation, and that's when Gutaale decided to completely change the subject. He explained how the Somalians wanted to get rid of the natives and have the island for themselves, and now they had the perfect weapon for that. He then gestured at me. "You, Bill. You will be our Trojan Horse. We offer you as tribute. They trust us. We attack and free you. Simple," he explained. "Yeah, sounds great," I said, totally enthusiastically. The Somalians did not know sarcasm and all rejoiced at this acceptance. I nervously laughed and went along with it. "Now is the time to strike. They are still looking for you. We will have "hunted" you down for them. Let us prepare you." They took me outside and gathered around me. One of them removed most of my clothes and another rubbed dirt on my skin to show a struggle. They crushed some berries and painted me to look like a sacrifice. "This will be just like back in Guantanamo," said one of them. "Yes. Except that will be floccinaucinihilipilification compared to this," remarked Gutaale. "What?" I asked. "It means valueless. Pick up a dictionary you uncivilized brute." And on that note, they tied my hands and feet to a pole and carried me into the jungle, into the heart of darkness.DAY TEN (DEAD)
The last thing I remember before blacking out was the cannibals rubbing spices on me. I figured this plan was too good to be true. I was dinner. I woke up to a Somalian standing over me. "Wait? Am I alive?" I asked. "No, Bill. But you have been saved," said the man. "I am Genrig, God of Somalian Pirates. You became a Somalian Pirate in your last hours and I blessed you and saved you. You have achieved true salvation. Here you will live in Somalian Paradise for eternity," he finished with a bow, gesturing to the land behind him. It was beautiful. I was born in America, but I was a Somalian at heart. "I just have one task for you Bill," said Genrig. "What's that?" I asked. "You must watch over your Somalian brethren down below and assist them in their war with the heathens on that island." "As you wish, my liege."DAY ELEVEN
I thought about my fate. What the fuck actually happened to me. I'm just some random guy from Maine, on my way to Rio to have some fun, and now I'm in pirate heaven. Life is a fickle master I suppose. I wondered if I had done things differently, maybe, just maybe things would've gone better. Maybe I should've teamed up with the other crash victims. No, they were all infighting, not dealing with the true matter at hand. I made the right choice I suppose. I died for the right cause and I guess I'd come to terms with it eventually. I always would wonder if my life would be worth it, whether my life would matter to anyone else. As I looked down upon the pirate camp, in much better condition than when I had arrived, and I thought that, yes, my death had furthered their own end.DAY TWELVE
I was done reminiscing, I had a job to do. I descended to the camp. It was nighttime, the sky was clear, illuminated by millions of stars. The sky reminded me of home, clear of light pollution, as it was meant to be. This world is about taking in beauty, and boy were the Somalians beautiful. Their bonfires lit up the beach and gave light to the lookouts that guarded against whatever threats were out there. I wasn't quite sure, Russians, cannibals, survivors, who knows. Being a spirit definitely had its perks. I could seamlessly explore the pirate camp with no one bothering me or asking to feed me to cannibals. I'm sure I'll be able to laugh about that one in a few centuries. I found Gutaale and out of instinct greeted him. To my dismay, he had no reaction. I figured it could get very depressing as a spirit, not able to interact with anyone and all. I knew I needed to find a way to make an impact.DAY THIRTEEN
I decided to take my leave of the camp until morning. I could walk through the jungle without fear of repercussion. It truly was beautiful when it wasn't trying to kill you. The whole ecosystem, kept away from the world in secret seclusion. I wondered if this is who Darwin felt, such beauty to explore and discover. I couldn't help but wish I was alive now. The feeling hit me hard. I was dead, and I was still trying to come to grips with it. Life is so futile: here I am, 26, full of life and ready to enjoy it, and yet, I die. And then you see curmudgeonly old men who get to live out their years cursing at the young generation. I guess my father was right, life isn't fair and I should've stayed back on the farm. But could I really live, or not live, in regret? I can't help what happened, and maybe everything does happen for a reason.DAY FOURTEEN
As the sun began to rise above the island, I decided to make my way back to the pirate camp hoping to find some purpose for my mission. Maybe something would reveal itself to me in the daylight. I poked through the camp as the pirates awoke. They all stared in confusion as they saw some boxes moving without anything visually moving them. I stopped cold and stared back at them, forgetting that they couldn't see me. They all bent down and bowed to the vacant air. They started talking in Somalian, which, as product of the gift of Genrig, I now understood. "It is the work of Genrig, a sign. Let us sacrifice one in his name," he proclaimed. All of a sudden, three pirates grabbed an unexpected brother and held him down. Gutaale pulled out his pistol, said a prayer, and blasted his head off. It was gruesome, but beautiful in the same way. I could feel the embrace of Genrig around me. Out of the dead, but not forgotten pirate, a spirit emerged, looked around, and walked towards me. "We've been waiting for you, Bill," he greeted with a smile.DAY FIFTEEN
"We knew Genrig would be sending you back to us. Just as the Christians have Jesus, we have Bill. A man, once mortal, now immortal, here to save our people. Thank you Bill," he said with a gracious bow. "Uh, yeah, yep that's me. Glad to see you again, man," I said with a half laugh. "In order to save us, you must know our story. So our brethren chose me to take you through our adventure. It is an honor, sir," he said, not looking me in the eye. "Well then. Shall we embark?" I asked. "Yes, my lord. We start in our homeland, Somalia." We grabbed my hand and we transcended time and space. We were standing on a cluttered dock, the heat was sweltering. "Welcome to Somalia," said the spirit with a bow, "in all of its splendor." Normally, I wouldn't have found a run down, criminal infested dock beautiful, but it takes a fine eye to appreciate art.DAY SIXTEEN
The pirate spirit led me through the inner workings of the port. There were pirates, smugglers, mercenaries, bounty hunters. All the vagabonds, ne'er-do-wells, and insufferable bastards that the world had thrown away, all together here in perfect harmony. It was beautiful. Not that it was actually beautiful, but the idea was beautiful. These men had been given up on, cast away, but here, they are accepted. I was understanding now. People are people and the people back home get too damn obsessed with what you've done or haven't done, not who you are, not what's in your heart. I could feel the sense of community in these men and the love they have for each other. The media paints these men as evil, but they are not the ones thrust into these circumstances. I looked over to my spirit guide and he nodded, and, just like that, we disappeared.DAY SEVENTEEN
We traveled through the space-time continuum or whatever it was, I was still getting used to this whole spirit thing. We came through on the other side to be greeted with crashing waves on a ship. I could tell that it was the Somalian's pirate ship, run off course into the Atlantic. There were helicopters flying above, shining searchlights down onto the ship. I wasn't told, but somehow I knew that this was the moment they were captured by the United States Coast Guard. There were men rappelling off the helicopters. They landed on the deck of the ship and pulled out their guns. The Somalians, not wanting to cost the life of any of their brethren, had no choice but to surrender. I blinked and the setting changed. It was a damp and musty hallway with prison cells lining each wall. In each of the cells sat a rejected Somalian. I knew they would escape so I had only wait and watch. I waited for what seemed like days, though, it's a bit hard to tell time when you're a spirit.DAY EIGHTEEN
I was growing impatient. I knew I had literally all the time in the world, but this was ridiculous. The faces on the men who would soon be my friends looked so broken, so desperate. I knew I had to do something, but I knew there wouldn't be a way to interact with the world. In my frustration I grabbed the handle to the door of one of the cells. Surprisingly, my hand was able to grab it. I turned it and the door flew open with ease. The Somalian in the cell looked up, shocked. I did the same to all the cells and the door at the end of the hallway. Guards ran into the prison block and opened fire on the fugitives, but it was to no avail. I led the charge out of Guantanamo Bay that night, and by some blessing, we made it out. Sitting in the harbor outside was the Somalians' brig, from thence dubbed the HMS Bill.DAY NINETEEN
We set sail immediately. The joy and frivolity was unlike any I had seen before.